


Happy New Year 2015

by AsheTarasovich (natalieashe), natalieashe



Category: James Bond (Craig movies)
Genre: Anal Sex, Bond is Just Bond, Casual Sex, Kissing, Loneliness, M/M, No Plot/Plotless, Oral Sex, Q is Cocky, Sexual Content, Smut, Stubble
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-01
Updated: 2015-01-01
Packaged: 2018-03-04 19:41:39
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,837
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3086129
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/natalieashe/pseuds/AsheTarasovich, https://archiveofourown.org/users/natalieashe/pseuds/natalieashe
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>On New Years Eve Q is asked to deliver some documents on his way home.  The recipient is Bond, who should actually be in Rio.  Both are lonely, but not for long.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Happy New Year 2015

**Author's Note:**

> No real plot, just an excuse for shameless 00Q smut to start the New Year.

"Happy New Year," Q grumbled under his breath. "Could've been soaking up the sun in Dubai with Eve, but no... I opt for freezing London. Alone. I am such a sad case." 

Q looked up the flight of steps leading to the imposing front door and sighed heavily. Brogues were not designed for frost-slick stone. It would be a bloody miracle if he made it to the top without sliding catastrophically back to the bottom. Curse M, curse Tanner, and curse whichever self-important pen-pusher had him playing delivery boy on his way home, just because he happened to live two stops away. He adjusted his messenger bag purposefully and stepped up.

By the fifth step he was almost crawling, fingers stinging painfully on the icy steps while his feet threatened to shoot out from under him. He thanked every god known to man it was dark and the street was deserted, so there was no one to witness his skinny arse bobbing in the air with each hazardous step.

By the time he made it to the top he was flushed, breathing heavily. He steadied himself against the black painted door. "Nine steps. Who the hell thought that was a selling point?" He breathed on his fingers trying to thaw them before banging painfully on the wood with his fist.

After five minutes of knocking and swearing he was ready to give up and head home to his ready meal for one and the single bottle of lager he had left in the fridge. A truly pathetic way to spend the last day of the year. He dug in the bag for the documents intent on stuffing them through the letter box, but the damn things wouldn't fit.

“Oh for fucks sake” he yelled, mouth close to the brass flap. “You wanted these damn things. The least you could do is open the fucking door to collect them so I can go home to my sad, lonely life.”

There was a shuffling behind the door, followed by unlocking sounds and the heavy door swung open cautiously. Q was still rifling in his bag, tugging out the remainder of the envelopes Tanner had thrust at him and was only half aware of the black and white tiled floor as it was slowly revealed. It was the bare feet that finally grabbed his attention.

Q wouldn’t claim a fetish at all, but the well-structured pair of bare male feet sent an unexpected frisson down his spine. Dark grey heavy cotton check pyjama pants draped over them in folds above the slightly splayed tendons that led to large square toes. Q’s hands stilled and his eyes travelled up over obviously muscular calves and thighs that…

“Q?” The voice was deep and hoarse.

Instantly Q’s eyes snapped upwards to a familiar craggy face with ice-chip eyes that held less warmth than the frigid night air.

“But you’re in Rio,” Q gasped. “All the intelligence said so.” He dipped his head, embarrassed to be caught out at keeping track.

“Obviously not. You’d better come in.”

Bond stepped back, ice clinking in the whisky tumbler that was more than half full. The pungent peaty aroma hung about the man along with the bitterness of stale smoke as Q ducked under his arm into the townhouse hallway. He stood like an awkward teen at the foot of the stairs, one arm full of thick envelopes and the other fiddling with his bag.

"Why are you here?” Bond asked bluntly, eyes flinty under the glare of a glittering chandelier that probably cost more than Q’s entire furnishings.

“Oh. Documents.” Q thrust the pile at Bond, flushing when the agent made no move to take them. He stood with arms outstretched for a few moments before searching around and locating a side table. “I’ll just leave them here then shall I?” He babbled.

“Your instructions were to leave them in the box at the base of the steps.”

“Well I didn’t get that memo,” Q snapped. “I didn’t navigate the health and safety hazard of your steps for fun! I didn’t take time out of my precious schedule just to drop by.”

“Sad and lonely life, you said.” 

Q gaped at him, and then with an exclamation of anger “you were there all the time! I’ll just be off then.”

Without Q realising, they were standing within arm’s reach. Bond shrugged, looked away, and took a drink. When he looked back at Q his eyes had turned a far deeper shade of blue, but the expression on his face was inscrutable. “Stay,” he said.

“What?” 

“I assume there is no… Mr Q…?” 

Q shook his head. Not for a very long time, thanks to long work hours and a dedication to ensuring the man in front of him survived to seduce another day. 

“Then stay.” Bond said softly, touching Q’s face briefly, turning away to walk deeper into the house.

“Hang on,” Q called after him, trotting down the hallway to catch up. They ended in a huge modern kitchen, Bond sloshing a blended whisky into a second glass of ice which he handed to the bemused young man. “Are you propositioning me?”

Bond smirked; skin crinkling attractively at the edges of his cool eyes. “How very old-fashioned Quartermaster. Is it a problem if I am?”

Q floundered, lost for an appropriate response. He ducked out of his bag strap and unzipped his parka, letting both drop on the floor beside the counter. He would stay for a drink, make an excuse, leave. Go back to his lonely flat. Lonely…

It was there reflected back at him in a wash of pale blue. Loneliness. That familiar emptiness of the soul when there was no one left to care. Bond refused to look away. His pain was etched in every line and wrinkle, in the growth of salt-and-pepper stubble and the shagginess of his growing out cut and he let his guard down allowing Q to see it all.

Q made his decision. A year, month, week from that point, he would probably think it the worst of his life. He curled a slim hand around the back of Bond’s neck and pressed his chilled lips to the surprised agent’s mouth. “No, 007. Not a problem at all.”

“Right.” Bond found himself wrong-footed for possibly the first time in his life. Bond the seducer faltered.

Q raised an eyebrow at the hesitation, slight smile playing at the corners of his lips. “Second thoughts, 007?”

"No,” growled Bond. “Do that again.”

Q took a deep swallow of whisky, lipping an ice cube into his mouth and sucking on it thoughtfully. Bond watched the motion of his cheeks, and then the wet slide of Q’s tongue over his lower lip. “I said, again.” He allowed Bond to take his glass, setting both absently on the counter. 

The agent stilled as Q stepped into his personal space, cradling Bond’s face in his long, slender fingers. Every muscle in Bond’s shoulders tensed, his arms moving fractionally from his sides ready to seize onto something… 

“This?” Q asked, brushing his closed mouth in a chaste kiss. “Or this?” Q’s lips smashed into Bond’s, chill and firm, grinding his face into the sharp stubble that covered Bond’s chin. Bond gasped and Q took advantage, sliding his tongue between his parted lips, then Bond was pulling back, pushing him away.

“Why now?” Bond demanded, thick fingers digging painfully into Q’s upper arms, putting him back at arm’s length. Deep frown lines marred his brow as he tried to make sense of what Q was offering. 

“Don’t stress your pretty head 007, it’s really not that complicated. As you rightly pointed out, I have a sad and lonely existence. You asked me to stay. I could choose to go, or I could choose not to be alone on New Year’s Eve. That’s it.”

“That's it?” Bond echoed. “Fine. Drink your whisky Quartermaster.” Bond brooded into his glass and Q wondered if that was indeed it for the night. He sipped, hoping to make time move slower if he was to be saying goodnight when all that was left was melting ice.

They drank in silence until Q set his empty glass down. “Took your time. Changed your mind Quartermaster?” Bond smirked. The dregs of his own drink disappeared down his throat and suddenly Q was being dragged towards the stairs. 

At the foot Bond stopped and pressed Q against the wooden banister, one finger stroking down the younger man’s jaw. “This is your opportunity to say goodnight Q. No hard feelings, no regrets.” He leaned his head in close to Q’s ear. “But you have to know before you choose, that I want you.” His lips brushed the shell of Q’s ear. “I want to touch, and taste and hear you moaning my name. Your choice… Stay or go?”

“Why the fuck are we still in the hall 007?” Q said breathlessly. “I thought I made it quite clear earlier that I was not averse to any of those things. Lead on.”

Bond did, pulling him roughly up to the second storey and through a double door into a huge bedroom. He didn’t release Q’s wrist until they were by the oversized bed, and then it was only to raise Q’s hand to his mouth, laying a kiss over the pulse point. Q raised his eyebrows. “Shut up Quartermaster, and remove your shirt.” Bond shrugged out of his soft thick cardigan and removed the vest he wore beneath leaving him in the dark grey T-shirt and pyjama pants. He dropped to the end of the bed and watched Q make a show of undoing every button.

“Are we still pretending the Double O agent is in charge 007?” Q slid one hand beneath his open shirt and toyed with his nipple, grinning at Bond’s sharp look.

“Take your shirt off Q and turn around.”

The black fabric slipped from Q’s shoulders, falling in a graceful slide down his arms. Q took his time unbuttoning the cuffs, smirking at the impatient sound Bond made. Bond’s large hands rested on his thighs, thumbs unconsciously stroking over the brushed fabric, eager to touch, and when the shirt eventually fell to the floor and Q turned away Bond was on his feet, crowding behind him and seizing his wrists tightly, holding them close to Q’s sides.

“You like to tease Quartermaster,” Bond whispered into his neck, lightly rubbing his stubbled chin over Q’s skin. Q’s breath hitched as the longer strands of hair at the nape of his neck caught in the rough bristles, tugging fractionally as they snagged and released. The sensation was delicious, peaking his nipples and raising the tiny hairs on his arms. Bond’s interested cock pressed against Q’s right buttock. “As do I.” 

Bond’s fingers squeezed around his wrists, his warm lips traversing the side of Q’s neck. Q dropped his head back to Bond’s shoulder giving the man better access to the long column of pale skin. “You said you wanted me 007. It would be rude not to give you a good look at everything and I do so like a man who takes the time to appreciate me properly.”

“Cocky little shit,” Bond murmured over Q’s ear, lipping around the shell, sucking lightly on the earlobe. “I like that. Makes it more fun when I finally have you under me, your cock drooling on your belly as I fuck into you, and you’re reduced to a whining begging mess. I can look down at your cheeky mouth screaming for me to fuck you harder and know that I got the better of the smart arse Quartermaster.”

Q moaned, aching to adjust his swelling cock that now tented the front of his trousers awkwardly. He ground his arse against Bond as the agent’s clever mouth suckled dark bruises into the Ivory canvas of his shoulder. “You talk entirely too much 007. Not that I wish to rush you, but there are better uses for your mouth.”

Bond released Q’s wrists and the boffin gratefully rearranged himself in the moment before Bond’s large calloused hands gripped his upper arms. He pressed kisses between Q’s shoulder blades, gracefully sinking to his knees as his lips moved slowly down the length of Q’s spine until he was halted by the waistband of Q’s trousers. 

Bond flicked the laces of Q’s brogues and tapped each calf in turn so he could remove Q’s shoes and socks. His hands ran lightly up the outside of Q’s thighs coming to rest on the slim man’s hips. “Are you wearing underwear?” Q nodded and chuckled softly. “Good. Lose the trousers. Slowly. Keep the pants.”

"I thought you were eager to have me a whining mess?”

“Just ‘appreciating’ as ordered, Quartermaster.” Bond’s forehead pressed against Q’s lower back, his face buried in the dip between Q’s buttocks. “I appreciate these tight trousers every time I visit Q branch, but then you know that don’t you? You like to flirt, and you think I don’t notice, but I take note of everything. I particularly note the hard on I have to hide when I think about spreading you over your desk and licking you open.” Q whimpered and felt his knees go weak at the debauched fantasy. Bond chuckled against his covered arse. “Would you like to reassess who’s on top here Quartermaster?”

“Fuck off 007; I’m still in charge of when you get to top.” 

Nonetheless Q’s fingers deftly unfastened his trousers and eased them over his hips. Bond’s cock almost betrayed him when the thin lace and mesh shorts were revealed. Not women's panties, unmistakably cut for a man, they moulded to Q’s arse like a black patterned second skin. Bond sat back on his heels, discreetly gripping his erection through his pyjama pants as he watched Q push the trousers elegantly down his legs, stepping out of them with the balance of a dancer. “Yoga?” Bond questioned.

“Pilates,” Q corrected. 

Bond’s cock twitched at the new options that suddenly presented with a toned and flexible lover. He nudged Q’s feet apart with his knees, shuffling so he could again press his face to Q’s arse. 

Q looked back at him over his shoulder, biting his lower lip, and then grinned. “I think this is what you want to ask for 007.” He bent from the hips, legs straight, and hands gripping his ankles. The action slid Bond’s chin down the crack of Q’s arse, bristles catching on the fine mesh in a rush of sensation for both of them leaving Bond panting hotly over Q’s arsehole, a promise beneath the lace.

"Christ, is this normal attire?” Bond groaned, pressing his lips tightly around Q’s entrance and worming the tip of his tongue against it. One hand gripped Q’s upper thigh, the other slipped between Q’s legs to play over his bollocks held close against his body by the mesh.

"Bloody hell,” Q writhed above him. “Only for days I need to feel good. Happy for you to ruin them,” he gasped.

“Oh no, far too pretty for that. Off and get on the bed.”

Q peeled the shorts away in one smooth movement and then straightened, turned and walked to the bed. Bond swallowed hard, mouth suddenly dry at the sight of his Quartermaster… Christ, no second thoughts… Q crawled onto the bed, rolling onto his side, propping his head on one hand, the other curling around his cock. “Well what are you waiting for 007? You talk a good game. Let's see what you’ve got.”

Bond stood, discreetly stretching out his cramped thighs from kneeling, and drawing his t-shirt over his head from the hem. Q nibbled at his lower lip at the roll of muscles as they were revealed, and the sizeable bulge straining the pyjama pants. Bond smirked, tugging the drawstring free, letting the pants drop and chuckling softly when Q licked his lips. “Really Quartermaster? You want this?”

“Fuck you.”

Bond grinned. He pushed Q onto his back, spreading his legs so he could kneel between them. Q’s cock rose from its dark nest of curls and lay heavy against his belly, longer and thicker than Bond expected. Bond dipped his head to taste, trailing the tip of his tongue along a prominent vein to the head, slipping his lips over it and suckling, rolling his tongue around it. Q whined when Bond pressed a broad fingertip against his entrance already yielding enough from Bond’s tonguing to dip inside. 

Q’s eyes were closed, one forearm thrown across his face, the other hand pinching at his nipple. Bond moved over him, nosing Q’s fingers away so he could lap at the tiny peak while he reached into the bedside drawer for lube and a condom. The quartermaster’s fingers tangled in Bond’s hair, pressing the agent’s rough beard growth into his chest until his skin was tingling. “You should keep that,” Q laughed breathlessly, pulling Bond up by the hair into a searing kiss, rubbing his mouth and chin against the sharp growth between kisses until he was sensitive and swollen.

Bond opened the lube one-handed, expertly manipulating the bottle to slick his fingers without breaking the kiss. He reached down between them seeking Q’s hole, stroking a finger over the puckered skin. 

“Now who teases?” Q whined, wriggling into Bond’s touch seeking more. 

Bond smirked at the petulant glare the young man gave from under his raised arm. “So eager for me to wreck you Quartermaster?”

“I’ll fall asleep before you-“ 

Q gasped, back arching from the bed, as Bond pushed his index finger inside with no warning, pumping it slowly until Q was writhing against the sheets. Before the young man could fully adjust to the intrusion, Bond swallowed Q’s cock in one motion. Q’s eyes went wide when Bond relaxed his throat to take him down to the root pushing his nose into the dark fuzz of Q’s groin. Still pumping one finger steadily, he withdrew, hollowing his cheeks as he sucked and gazing up the length of Q’s body to see the desire on his face.

Q whimpered when Bond added another finger, opening the young man with steady thrusts until he found Q’s prostate, caressing the pad of a finger over it repeatedly. Q keened, gripping Bond’s shoulder tightly making half-moon imprints with his fingernails. He pulled up his knee to give Bond more freedom, while simultaneously trying to fuck into his mouth. The blond laughed, letting Q’s prick fall against his belly, rubbing his face over the tender skin of Q’s inner thigh until the skin turned rosy. 

“007…” Q moaned.

‘You might want to try ‘James’ about now,” Bond chuckled, “I think we’ve reached that level of intimacy, and 007 is such a mouthful.”

Whatever response Q was forming was lost when Bond shoved another finger in; shifting so he was leaning over the dark haired man. He kept up the slow steady rhythm, while he kissed Q’s throat and licked over the sheen of sweat on Q’s neck. “You taste good Quartermaster. Not so cocky with my fingers deep in your arse though, are you? Finally have you lost for words? Come on Q; give me a little appreciation in return.”

“Wanker,” Q moaned, trying to take more of Bond’s fingers.

“Well I could… But I thought…” With a last brush of his finger across Q’s prostate Bond withdrew. He rolled on the condom and drizzled lube over it, slicking up his length and then sliding his hand over Q’s twitching prick. He pulled at Q’s legs, spreading him wide and putting his glistening hole on display. “God Q, you are perfection…” He groaned, lining himself up and easing in slowly. 

Q panted against his shoulder, holding steady as Bond’s thick cock filled him. His hand wandered to his own cock, wrapping tightly around the lube-slick skin and pulling. “Move then” he begged.

"Gladly," Bond growled, bracing himself on his hands and rocking his hips, establishing a motion that dragged needy sounds from his Quartermaster. Q wrapped his legs around Bond’s hips forcing him closer and trapping his hand between their sweating bodies so the push of Bond's abdominals forced his fist up and down his length. Q’s other arm clamped around Bond’s neck, putting the agent’s mouth close to his ear. “Come on Q, come for me. Let me feel it.”

Q threw his head back against the pillow, clinging to Bond tighter the harder the blond fucked into him. Bond panted encouragement into Q’s sweat-damp hair, bringing them closer, wringing noises from his Quartermaster that shot straight to his cock. Suddenly the young man went rigid beneath him with a shout, jerking hard into his fist and sending pulses of wet heat between them. Bond followed soon after, emptying himself into Q’s aching body with powerful thrusts.

Bond collapsed heavily on top of him breathing hard. Q’s arm around his neck unlocked by increments, gradually sliding over Bond’s broad back until it slipped away completely, falling limply to rest on the mattress. Bond pulled out, and scrambled off the bed to deal with the condom, while Q lay boneless trying to bring his brain back online. 

"You ok, Quartermaster?"

Q forced his eyes open to see Bond standing over him proffering a towel. He hummed and gave himself a cursory wipe down, tossing the towel back to the agent who remained standing by the bed. “Fine. Just need a minute…” He waved a hand lazily indicating that he couldn’t quite bring himself to move. “Not quite what I was expecting from my evening, but… Yeah, I’m good. More than.”

Bond nodded and looked at the towel, shrugging and allowing it to fall to the floor. He climbed back into bed alongside Q, propping himself on his elbow and trailing a finger down Q’s slender arm. Q watched its progress intrigued. “I suppose I should thank you for staying.” Bond said gruffly. “This wasn’t something I planned. I think you should know that.”

Q shrugged, tucking a hand behind his head and offering a small smile. “The job is a killer for meeting people. I’m happy to be here 007. Better than sad and lonely at the turn of the year.”

“There are still three hours left of 2014…”

Q smiled confidently. “I’m in no hurry to resume my isolated existence 007, unless you’re ready to kick me out?” He hoped not. It was cold out, and he had nothing to look forward to outside of this room.

Bond smirked down at him, with considerably more warmth than the beginning of the evening. “Stay,” he said, “if you want? And it's James.”

“Yeah, I want. So Rio…?”

“Never there. ‘Rio’ is M’s code for my enforced downtime. Rio is a fucking lonely place that normally I hate but I’ve never had company before.”

Q hummed, pulling Bond down for a lingering kiss. “A night in Rio? Sounds perfect.”


End file.
